...from the High Sierras...

My mother and I were feeling adventurous (or slightly out of our minds) and decided to take the kids camping in Yosemite National Park. Sans husbands/dads/grandpa.  I had never gone camping without a man fairly close by.  Even girls camp has priesthood there at all times.  But the men were working hard for the money, so we headed 'em up and moved 'em out.  Girl power!

The campsite was so small that there is not much more to it than you see in this picture. Just a picnic table and a small fire pit. We weren't sure the tent would fit.

Of course, Yosemite Valley was gorgeous, and they so thoughtfully paved many of the hiking paths. We made our way to many of the geological landmarks the first day.

The second day, we thought we'd be a little more daring and try the hike to Vernal Falls.

The first half of the trail was still paved, yes, but when you climb 1000 feet in elevation in just one and a half miles...that is one steep hike. In fact, at the half-way point, seen here--

--the trail changes into "steps" that lead the rest of the way up to the falls.  These weren't a nicely constructed staircase, however.  It was roughly hewn stones that ascend right up the side of the falls.  In a very narrow, dramatic fashion.  Grandma bowed out and decided to wait for us near the footpath bridge.  I, for one, was determined to make it to the top.  I had seen beer-bellied men, a lady with an orthopedic boot, and parents carrying preschoolers in their arms pass me by, and by golly, if it was good enough for them, it was good enough for me.  The only problem was getting my four mini hiking companions on board.  They decided they were up for the challenge, only to change their minds after a few feet of steepness.  Only to decide that OK, we can go a little farther.  Then the "master hiker" (Andrew, who was in the lead) turned around and said, "Well, if the girls want to go back, I would go..."  I thought that was it.  I couldn't send them back down to Grandma on their own, and I didn't want to continue hiking by myself (although I totally would have), so I was ready to give in and give up.  However, another group of hikers were on their way down, and told us that we were so close to the top and we might as well keep going.  So keep going we did.

And we made it to the top!

It was almost harder coming down, with the slippery rocks and lack of anything to hold on to. Almost.

Personally, this hike was the highlight of our Yosemite trip.  For me.  Ask the young 'uns and they may have a differing opinion.  But there's always a sense of accomplishment when you make it through a challenge such as this.  I kept telling the kids that they had everything they needed inside of them to do this.

That, and "Slow down!"  "Keep to the right!"  "Careful!"

Hittin' up the West Coast...

Things we can do because Brooke is not here.

1. Keep at least one room in the house clean.

2. Argue about who is going to unload the dishwasher since it was her week to do it. (Wait, we do that even when she is here!)

3. Talk about Lebron James leaving the Cavs.

4. Listen to the "Mike & Mike In The Morning" Show on the radio when we pick up Emma and Leah from swimming.

5. Go to an Indians game.

(Are you sensing a theme here?)

Glenn took the kids to a game back in May.  The only game of the season that was rained out.  And the make-up game happened to be when Brooke would be livin' it up on the West Coast.  I happily took the 5th ticket, and the Brooke-less Franklins enjoyed our sports outing.  And when the rain started AGAIN, the only complaining was that we weren't going to wait around for the rain to let up (guess who that was from??).

The pitcher is in our ward at church. We haven't gotten to meet him, but we sure cheered for him!

There may have been a little complaining about the humidty as well...not saying by whom...but let's just say I am glad the sweat had not soaked through my hat for this picture.

When the sky looked like this, we knew we wouldn't be seeing all nine innings--but the Tribe pulled out a win around midnight! (This is something I found out the next morning, thank you very much.)

Brooke, thank you for letting me take your ticket--I know it was real hard for you to give it up!

I miss Brooke.

I miss Brooke because she is always so happy.

I miss Brooke because she gets so excited about things.

I miss Brooke because she never lets you forget her.

I miss Brooke because she knows how to keep herself entertained.

I miss Brooke because she keeps

entertained.

See you on Tuesday, Brooke!

Yes, Virginia, there really was a swim meet.

I didn't take many pictures of the swim meets this year.  I had either forgotten the camera, the camera batteries were dead, or I was timing.  Plus we missed two meets because of camp.  But the girls did swim and had a fun season.

Emma in the 100 Free relay

Leah swimming the dreaded Fly

Emma's 100 Back

Leah diving over her sister in the 100 Free relay

S'more fireworks.

What better way to spend a scorching hot Sunday afternoon than around an open flame? Grandma Brooks found us these cool s'mores roasters, so we had to use them. And as far as the legality of an open fire? I'm claiming ignorance on that one. The kids had a great time and loved their toasty gooey treats.

Fireworks Pt. 2

So he left.

Life will go on. You know it, I know it, even Glenn knows it. But one little boy, who in preschool said the thing he was most grateful for was Lebron James, doesn't.

Andrew's "I'm grateful for..." turkey feather, 2005

"The Decision" was hard to hear. It was announced in the cruelest way. Lebron ripped out the hearts of Clevelanders in front of the entire nation, and didn't show one bit of emotion about it. I could go on and on (and actually have, all last night) about the situation, but as an adult, I've acquired the skills necessary to deal and move on.

The boy? Not so much.

The specific circumstances don't matter. It is very hard to watch your child learn these life lessons. For an eight-year-old, what happened last night was a trial. His emotions ran the gamut. Tears, anger, ripping up of newspapers, taking the MVP and Chosen One posters and Fat Head gift from Uncle Nate (which we hadn't even gotten up on the wall yet!) out of his room.

I let him feel it. I sat there beside him and shed some tears of my own. Not over Lebron--he doesn't deserve it--but over seeing my son so hurt. His dad came in and expressed his sympathy and regret that Andrew is feeling the "curse" at an earlier age, but reminded him that when the championship does come, it will be that much sweeter. We talked about how the ONLY person to be mad at is Lebron and that we will still support our Cleveland teams. We talked about how much fun it will be to root against the Miami Heat. We talked about how we can get more into college sports, that he can learn more about the BYU football team, that Ohio State is supposed to be good this year. And we talked about what is truly important in life, how to deal with trials, how a wise man recently counseled "Never let an earthly circumstance disable you spiritually."  Some big, important lessons learned from a small, insignificant event.

And the morning after?  Andrew's way of dealing with it says it all...

Now, please, can we stop talking about it?